


Hydra

by kaibasetos



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 19:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5714797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaibasetos/pseuds/kaibasetos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kaiba feels the familiar bite of jealousy split his chest, he can’t tell which one of them it's intended for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hydra

**Author's Note:**

> New year, new ship. _throws confetti into the air_
> 
> I'm just kidding, but wow, this was fun. I've always been a quiet fan of this ship, but discussing it with Joey in further detail lead to me desperately wanting to write something for it, and when I saw how little content there was for them I felt obligated to. It was great to do something a little outside of my comfort zone and explicit area of expertise after the holidays pushed me into taking a sudden hiatus and tried to squeeze all of the writing life out of my bones.
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this even though it is something a little different! I should be back on track with writing JouKai soon enough, but I can't guarantee I won't make some detours to this side of the woods again, especially if people like this one.

It’s dim in Kaiba’s room. The lamp on his nightstand emanates a pale, feeble light that outlines the silhouettes of Jounouchi and Otogi in his bed -- a foreign concept to him still. It basks them in a gentle glow that glints in Otogi’s eyes, softer without his makeup but still sharp, like the eyes of a leisurely, sensuous predator tracking his prey. Right now, his prey is Kaiba, and Kaiba is all too aware of it. The gaze pricks his skin as needles and leaves him wounded and wanting. **  
**

Kaiba’s grip on his phone tightens involuntarily, presses it a bit too hard to his ear. He only lets himself spare a glance for Jounouchi, sprawled in Otogi’s lap, dozing with his hair mussed and Otogi’s fingers rubbing repetitive, soothing circles into his upper back. He only lets himself linger on it for a moment. His longing for them burns like a chemical reaction in his lungs, and he looks away.

It takes him a breath too long to regain his train of thought.

“You are free to exercise your right to voice your foolish opinions, but do not allow yourself to think that they will influence my decision in any way. It is my company and I will do with it what I choose,” he says firmly into the phone. The tension that has been winding his shoulders tight for the duration of the call increases in pressure, bearing down on him. His hand comes up to his throat, loosening his tie. He can feel Otogi tracking his movements. His jaw clenches.

“You don’t have to condescend to me, Mr. Kaiba,” the voice on the other end of the line replies testily, and Kaiba sneers. His temper flares a bit too close to the surface, and the indignation rushing through his veins feels good. It feels right. It’s something he can control, can weaponize.

“I wouldn’t be obligated to condescend to you if you weren’t operating under the critically flawed misconception that your input is worth even a moment of my time,” he snaps back with a tone that is all fatal cunning, a quick strike to the jugular with pointed shredding fangs. It's euphoric, a release. He’s a bit too loud. Jounouchi stirs and Kaiba’s eyes involuntarily snap to him.

“You’re _still_ on the phone?” Jounouchi yawns, stretching out and slowly -- reluctantly, Kaiba thinks -- pulling himself out of Otogi’s lap. Kaiba can barely read his expression in the light, but he’s sure it’s one of drowsy irritation and his stomach performs an unwelcome, subtle twist of guilt. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Kaiba, when’re you comin’ to bed?”

“That’s a good question,” Otogi adds with a raised eyebrow.

The pressure in Kaiba’s shoulders crawls down his back, slowly aching in his spine and radiating outward. He closes his eyes just long enough to take a deep breath, trying to steady both his voice and his anger, still a dull and bitter roar in the back of his throat. He pulls the phone away from his ear before he speaks, level and carefully patient. “In a moment. It’s business.”

“Can’t it _wait_?” Jounouchi complains, and Kaiba doesn’t miss the way Otogi’s arm shifts over the sheets to wrap around his waist. Otogi’s hand runs up Jounouchi’s side and Jounouchi inclines his head towards him in response, like he’s paying tribute for the attention. Kaiba’s chest tightens uncomfortably.

“No.” He forces the word out as though holding it on his tongue for too long is painful, then raises his phone back to his ear just in time to catch the last of what seems to be a particularly long-winded variety of tirade. He exhales a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.

Otogi murmurs something to Jounouchi that he can’t hear, can’t even read on his lips, but the tone of it strikes him anyway: dark and luxurious, tinged with amusement. The way Jounouchi looks at Otogi when he presses fingertips to his chin, tilts his face up into the light, is stunning. Kaiba wants to capture it like it’s a tangible thing, keep it close to savor it.

Otogi kisses him, and Kaiba’s breath catches in his throat.

“Mr. Kaiba--”

“Go on,” Kaiba murmurs dismissively into the phone, and that’s enough permission to launch his caller into yet another rant. He catches a few unkind words as they fade into a haze, and it occurs to him faintly that this argument slipped through his fingers far too long ago to regain control of it, but his mind is elsewhere.

His eyes are transfixed on his partners.

He knows how it feels to kiss, and be kissed, by them, but something about watching them is fascinating. It’s addictive. It’s all in the small things, as an outside observer. It’s in the way Otogi’s slender fingers run through and tangle up in Jounouchi’s hair. The way he kisses him with an unfair tenderness and Jounouchi presses forward, his hands clenched in Otogi’s shirt, to turn it into something rougher and needier. The way Jounouchi opens up to him, all of him receptive and responsive and lost in the dizzying feeling. The way Otogi huffs out laughter against him when Jounouchi gets a little too enthusiastic and their teeth clack together. All of it paints a picture Kaiba once thought -- still thinks -- too pretty and too perfect for his shadow to fall across, but fall it does, with their invitation.

Otogi pulls back just long enough to run his thumb over Jounouchi’s lower lip, looking at him like he’s the fucking sunrise, before kissing him again open-mouthed and sloppy.

When Kaiba feels the familiar bite of jealousy split his chest, he can’t tell which one of them it's intended for. He’s never been able to compartmentalize his inherent, fervent possessiveness here, to separate or differentiate. It’s all the same to the three of them, this monster of their love and lust. If his partners are a masterpiece, his name is the signature, written in jagged and craving script. If Jounouchi is their brilliant, burning sun and Kaiba is their moon’s darkened reflection, Otogi is their field of riotous stars and magnificent constellations. It works, that way. They complete one another, all cut from the same frayed cosmic cloth, and Kaiba doesn't have to think about it.

In the end, Kaiba supposes he’s possessive of them both. They are his just as much as he is theirs.

He would never allow himself to belong to anyone, but he belongs to them.

“Are you even listening to me, Mr. Kaiba?” The voice on the line jerks him violently out of his train of thought, and he reflexively presses a hand to his temple as though to silence the intrusion. Otogi pauses, kissing Jounouchi so slow and warm that Jounouchi is pressed almost too close to him, and shoots a sly glance in Kaiba’s direction. Their eyes meet. Kaiba’s mouth goes dry.

“I have to go.” Kaiba hangs up the call, hardly wavering even as more undoubtedly heated words spill from the other end. Otogi breaks away just to shoot him a devious grin as Kaiba walks over and drops his phone onto the bedside table with an undignified clatter.

“I knew we could get you to hang up on that asshole,” Otogi remarks with satisfaction, idly twisting his fingers in what little of his long hair hasn’t been braided in preparation for bed. Jounouchi starts to laugh a little too hard, breathless with exhilaration, turning just enough to catch a glimpse of Kaiba’s face.

“You totally fell for it,” Jounouchi says, and Kaiba immediately bristles.

“I did nothing of the sort,” he comments stiffly, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. He can feel them watching him as he does it. His pulse jumps, hard and involuntary. “It was long overdue. I shouldn’t have allowed him to--”

“Shut up, Kaiba,” Jounouchi interrupts him with a roll of his eyes that seems almost fond. “We all know how much you love to fuckin’ argue. You woulda been on the phone with him for hours if we let you. We got you, just admit it.”

Kaiba's brow furrows. “I made my own decision.”

“Of course,” Otogi agrees mockingly, looking far too pleased with himself. “It’s just very intriguing that you made your own decision _after_ staring at us with that enthralled look on your face the entire time we were making out, don't you think?”

Kaiba opens his mouth to deny it and stops abruptly, biting his tongue to ground himself. He can’t. He doesn't have to anymore. More importantly, some part of him, reckless and wild with its yearning, doesn't want to. He can't resist them, and they already know it. The thought makes him feel vulnerable and volatile, like an exposed wire, torn open and sparking.

“Hey," Jounouchi speaks up with an undercurrent of gentle caution in his tone, scrutinizing Kaiba's guarded expression. "Not that I don’t love irritatin’ the shit out of Kaiba more than anyone, but are we gonna sit here givin’ him even _more_ reasons to argue or are we goin’ to bed?” He punctuates his statement with an obviously exaggerated yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

Kaiba's eyes flick between the two of them, looking up at him expectantly in the vague wash of light. Something about them together is so unbearably magnetic and they beckon and entrance him into ruin and rebuilding, draw him so deep down into the depths he forgets what the surface felt like. He knows the answer long before he says it, but it takes his righteous pride and frayed nerves a minute to settle themselves beneath the rhythmic and pining drumbeat of his heart, somewhere between green and brown and the murmur of their laughter against one another’s lips. He lets himself relax by minute fractions, tries to remind himself that it's okay to need this. “Bed.”

Their hands and mouths, Kaiba finds, do an excellent job of relieving the stress in him when he has their full attention.

He doesn’t recall the argument at all.


End file.
